22/06/2023
A little of my story - I wrote this post back in September 2019, but it gives you a little bit of a peek into my life, and the events that were the catalyst to my journey into becoming an End of Life Doula.
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As the one year anniversary of my Mum’s death approaches, I am filled with as much dread and fear as I was when I my Dads was approaching, only one month ago.
For those who don’t now know me too well (which is actually most of you), to set the scene, I lost my Dad on August 13th 2018, and my Mum on September 16th 2018, less than 5 weeks later.
It has been, and continues to be, quite the journey, but I am okay, truly I am. I probably drink more wine than ever, and more often, but I still work out, I still show up, I still wash my hair (less than I should probs, but I think that’s always been the case) and I still do all the things I did before they passed. Apart from talk to them, and get my Mums brilliant texts, ALL with LOL Mum at the end. Never ever did I tell her it meant laugh out loud, because lots of love was way nicer.
Has anyone else had that conversation before about what would be worse, a sudden death or knowing you are dying and having the chance to do all the things you want to, say all the things that had been left unsaid, write those letters to the kids like you see in the movies, do the videos, get your affairs in order. I know I have thought of this a bit, and had chats with friends about it too.
Crazily, I got to experience both of these scenarios with my folks.
My Mum had terminal cancer, and we had 18 months of a heads up for her.
My Dad got in his car on a Monday morning to go and do some errands while Mum was in bed, really sick and approaching the end of this chapter, and he had a massive heart attack just round the corner from their home, and we never saw him again. Actually, I did see him again, at rest, looking SO peaceful and cute, with a little handkerchief tucked into his hands, but I didn’t get to feel his warmth, his joy, his amazing hugs again.
I have done a whole post about my Dad’s death, and although it barely touches the surface in regards to the events, the emotions and the experience, it has been written, and it was really therapeutic to do so.
One day I will do something more in-depth about my Mum, the fun times, flying my kids over from Australia to surprise her when she thought she would never get the chance to see them again, the conversations we had as we lay in her bed together after Dad had passed, the fear, the tears, trying so hard to say all the things I wanted to say so I knew, when she had gone, that I had done what I wanted to. Walking her to the toilet, using a syringe to drop water in her mouth when she could no longer swallow, giving her morphine when she was in pain. The look in her eyes, even at the very end, of a strong, determined fighter who was really not ready to lose this battle.
I am just not quite ready to write this story yet, in it’s entirety, but I will, for sure, one day.
The way my Dad went was probably a blessing. He did not suffer, he didn’t have to feel his body waste away, become unable to do all the things he was so used to doing. He didn’t stop eating, drinking, and being pumped full of morphine to relieve the pain that kept him from sleeping. He didn’t have to look at his Daughters caring for him, and feel that he was a burden, Mum certainly felt that way in her final weeks, although this could not be further from the truth, caring for her was the biggest privilege I have ever had in my life, ever, and I would not change that for anything.
To conclude, I think it is fair to say that death, no matter the way, just sucks nuts.
Those we love passing away means we will never get to hold them again, hear their voices, feel their warm hugs and see their faces full of joy, but now some time has passed, and although the pain and sadness and grief is still very raw, for me, I think knowing Dad passed so very quickly, with only a little pain for a few seconds, comforts me somehow. The last time I saw him alive he was laughing, enjoying his day, looking at photos of my kids, listening to his favourite songs, so my memories feel happier because of this.
To everyone currently caring for someone with a terminal illness, I give you the biggest heart hugs ever.
�Debbie xo
